She said why don’t you come see me when the sun goes down
It’ll be just like the old days when I used to let you hang around
She’s going out west, rolling on to Tuscon, where we’ll meet in the fall. I found her and we were happy but now she’s going away. I feel lucky&blessed to have had her these last few months. Our mutual trust and respect have been nothing short of a graceful dance. She’s a good girl and she’s got the Wisdom but I got the Work. I’ll be hanging back in Hippie Town for the next three weeks cranking out the last three installments of this column. By the end of the Terrible Summer I’ll be on my way back to her on the Road King. Until then it’s just you&me, Brother.
Estimates range between 22-40 dead from Tropical Storm Irene’s petulant throes on the east coast last week. My sister wrote me from Delaware that her basement was flooded and other than being annoyed her and the kids are OK. I know Sicko’s power was out in the burbs of Philly b/c it inspired him to write this powerful blog old-school and in longhand. Tropical Storms are like Hurricanes that you can drive through. I should know. I had nothing but Tom Waits and a rail of meth to help me push through Tropical Storm Cindy back in the summer of 05. It was weeks before the world and certainly NOLA would forget all about Cindy as Katrina asserted herself as the HBIC of Crescent City.
Who was Michelle Bachman kidding at the Baptist Megaplex in Sarasota, FLA last week? The congregation? Baptists don’t kid around with God’s punishments. For violating the first and second of the 10 Commandments for example, the punishment is genocide. If God was punishing Congress he’d have to use something other than frak-tremors or some pussy rain.
Here in Hippie Town on Thursday, after 75 consecutive days of triple-digit temperatures, we were treated to a tenth of an inch of rain. I was at the pool and there was nothing relaxing or refreshing about it. The pool developed a greasy sheen that burned my eyes. I had to take a shower and this made me late for work. Aho-the Terrible Summer. What else could it be?
Let’s face it, it’s been a Terrible Summer for errybody except perhaps the US Congress and Ted Nugent.
Just ask Mrs.Quadaffy or the Dallas Cowboys. Yep, Mrs.Q’s been discovered seeking refuge in Algeria with her children this morning. Not that her escape in a convoy of Mercedes limousines could be missed by anyone except the NTC but her and her children were probably the ones wearing haterblockers with gold bouillon strapped to the roof.
If only the Dallas Cowboys could be so lucky. They weren’t carrying anything except their balls, handed to them by the Minnesota Vikings despite stumbling into a false dawn of Victory on Mall of America field on Saturday.
This ties them at 2-1 in the pre-Season with my hometown Birds, but-don’t get fooled again. The last time I put any faith or money on the Philadelphia Eagles was during their first ever Superbowl back in 05 against the lecherous Pats. Pine Street was blazing with angry fags in loud cars and green balloons and the Birds loss was a bad sign.
The Year of the Cock wasn’t good for anyone. I do have one fond memory of a fine morning in Pheonix when I got the call. The Reverend Kevin P.O’Brien called me at my hotel. The sun was warm and fine, shining down on my Skynyrd morning radio but, looking back, that’s probably when all this trouble began.
Well I don’t know, I might not speak the language anymore
Too long in the wasteland will close some doors
–Too Long in the Wasteland, James McMurtry
Maybe I can right some wrongs next time I’m in Arizona. The old man would have been 60 on Saturday. I’ll pay homage in the only way I know how. I’ll be burning through the wasteland on his old bike until I see the first sign for the Land of Enchantment-New Mexico. Even in exile with her I’ll be inwardly wishing that there were just a few more Trainers in the world and she knows this. She’s a good girl.
Yep, I’ll be cranking out three more installments of the Minutes here at Bat Manor before I head west. There’ll be plenty of nightswimming and early morning texts about the strangeness of existence until then, so, send me yr digits if I don’t already have them. Then Ill be following her to temple on the Road King.
May you enjoy your ride down the slope of History.
Namaste.
notion struck me last night baby, I believe I take a stroll out west.
David “Honeyboy” Edwards
June 28, 1915 – August 29, 2011
RIP
Going for the Throat 